


A Convenient Proposal

by Adoxography



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8876320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adoxography/pseuds/Adoxography
Summary: Snake has the flu, Otacon has unresolved anxieties after Big Shell. Basically relentless sticky sweet fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaerle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaerle/gifts).



> From the Xmas Supply Drop prompt: Hal's sense of timing is awful and he proposes in the most awkward and least romantic way possible (but how couldn't David be charmed by the man who introduced himself by pissing his pants)  
> I hope you like it!

Last week it had been Otacon bent double over the toilet bowl, limp greasy hair plastered to the side of his face as he shivered and sweated. Snake’s hair had at least gotten long enough to tie into a ponytail, keeping stringy strands from dangling in toilet water. Otacon hummed sympathetically from the doorway, holding a glass of water and two gravol.

“Here,” he said, once Snake’s stomach stopped churning so much and he was able to sit back down on the bathmat. He leaned against the bathtub and his head swam as he reached for the glass of water, tossing back the chalky, pink pills with it. As soon as he finished, he felt bile rising in his throat and he forced himself to swallow it back down.

If Otacon hadn’t been so ill the week before, Snake would have assumed he’d been poisoned. It was awful: the shaking, the sweating, feeling hot and cold all over. He groaned miserably, the empty glass rolling out of his hand.

“I’ve never seen you sick before,” Otacon commented. He stepped into the bathroom, flushing the toilet and moving to sit on the lid. He took another look at Snake’s face and what he saw must have looked grim, since he raised the lid again and leaned against the yellowing counter instead, picking at the chipped laminate with a bony finger.

“The nanomachines protect me from most infections, viruses, and poisons,” said Snake, his voice raw and gravely.

“But not the seasonal flu?” Otacon raised his eyebrow.

“Apparently not.”

Snake braced his hands on the edge of the tub, hoisting himself up. Or at least he tried to before his head began to spin again and he lowered himself back onto the bathmat, momentarily defeated.  

After fleeing New York, still labeled international terrorists, the shitty motel room in Boston was as far as they got before Otacon became too sick to travel. At least Snake’s immune system had been able to stave off the illness until Otacon was at least well enough to make coffee on his own. The thought of coffee now made Snake’s stomach churn after three days of nothing but water and dry toast, and even that he could barely keep down.

“How do people deal with this shit every year?” Snake grumbled, pressing his face against the cool porcelain of the bathtub.

“Legendary super-soldier Solid Snake, taken down by the flu?” Otacon chuckled. “The papers would love that.”

Snake only grunted in response and Otacon’s expression turned sympathetic again. He offered out his hand. “Here,” he said, “let’s get you back to bed.”

Snake put aside his pride and took the outstretched hand. Otacon was forced to use his whole body weight to haul Snake off the floor. Once he was upright, Otacon let go and Snake swayed, grabbing the towel rack for support. The drywall holding it up cracked and Snake almost tumbled back onto the floor, staying upright only due to Otacon’s steading grip on his arm.

“Come on, big guy,” said Otacon affectionately. It was a strange feeling, being cared for, and Snake still hadn’t gotten used to it, even after almost a year.

Otacon pulled back the hideous red and orange covers and Snake collapsed onto the bed, letting his partner pull the sheets back up despite the indignity. Snake had bribed the cleaning ladies last week to bring them extra bedding for Otacon and as soon as they’d realized Snake was sick, they’d brought clean ones for him as well. Both Snake and Otacon tipped generously to earn their favor and they were rewarded when many of them volunteered to pick them up things like the gravol or ginger ale on their way to work.

It was all very sweet, but the familiarity made Snake nervous. If one of them were to recognize them… But as Otacon reminded him whenever Snake’s concerns (paranoia, according to his partner) reared their head, if they were going to turn them in, they would have already. Snake didn’t know how accurate that assessment was, but once the fever took hold, it was hard to argue anything.

“How do you feel about lemon tea?” Otacon asked, unplugging the electric kettle to walk it over to the bathroom sink.

“I think I could keep that down,” Snake replied, after a moment’s consideration.

Otacon re-emerged from the bathroom and plugged it back in, flicking the switch on. He grabbed a paper cup from the shelf with the microwave on it and tossed a bag of lipton lemon tea in the bottom.

“You’re only on day two and it took me until about day five before I started to feel human again.” Snake thought that might have been mean t to be reassuring.

“Right.”

Otacon leaned against the counter, the kettle bubbling behind him. He was silent for an uncomfortably long time before he looked back at Snake.

“I was thinking,” he started, but then the kettle clicked off and he didn’t finish his sentence. He turned around and busied himself making tea, pouring hot water over the bag and scraping out the complementary honey packages with a wooden stir stick.

When Otacon went to pick it up, he grabbed the flimsy cup too hard and the edges pushed inwards, spilling boiling water over his hand. He swore but managed to avoid dropping the cup, instead putting it back on the counter before violently shaking his burnt hand.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered, reaching for one of the clean hand-towels stacked between the coffee machine and the sugar packets. He dried his hand and then the counter before grabbing a second paper cup to double up the first one, strengthening the flimsy edges. This time it didn’t buckle under his hands, though he was still comically cautious as he walked it across the room to place on the bedside table.

He plopped himself down on the bed beside Snake, reaching out to place the back of his hand on Snake’s sweaty brow.

“You’re still pretty hot,” he said, “but that’s to be expected.”

“Hot, or ruggedly handsome?” Snake quipped, though it came off less flirtatious when he was forced to sniffle his runny nose to avoid dripping snot on his upper lip.

Otacon reddened and rolled his eyes. “Har, har.” He reached forwards to push back a greasy clump of hair that had fallen out of Snake’s ponytail, leaning in to press a kiss to his damp brow.

“I’m sorry I gave you the flu,” said Otacon, patting Snake’s thigh.

“Yeah, me too,” Snake retorted, but he managed a grin despite the way his muscles ached.

Otacon smiled but looked back down at his knees, brows drawing closer together. He took off his glasses, taking his hand off Snake’s leg so he could wipe them with his shirt.

“I was thinking…” he mumbled to his legs.

“You said earlier, what about?” Snake raised an eyebrow and reached for his tea, still steaming but probably cool enough now to drink.

“Oh,” Otacon sat straight up, looking back at Snake, he shook his head. “Um, just that you’d probably want a bath or something soon.”

“You going to give me a sponge bath, nurse?” Snake smirked and Otacon’s eyes widened as he turned crimson from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“I… I mean I could, if you needed me too, that is,” he ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor.

Snake chuckled took a sip of his tea and still managed to burn his tongue. Despite the fact it had been steeping for over five minutes, it still tasted like vaguely lemony water with honey. He drank it quickly, an act he soon regretted as his stomach rebelled.

He gestured wildly at Otacon, “I’m going to be sick.” Otacon leapt to his feet and grabbed the squat, glass coffee pot from beside the bed. They’d removed the lid last week and it had seen a fair bit of use since then. Snake only just managed to bring the pot to his face in time before he emptied the cup of tea into it, still hot as it was expelled from his body.

Snake didn’t see him get up, but Otacon pried the coffee pot from his hands and traded it for a warm washcloth for his mouth.

“Thanks,” Snake muttered into the damp terry cloth, listening to the sound of Otacon rinsing his vomit down the bathroom sink.

“Do you want some water?” Otacon asked, putting the coffee pot back down beside the bed.

Snake shook his head, stomach still churning.

“So, I—”

“Was thinking?” Snake interrupted, looking up at Otacon who wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing his glasses up, moving his gaze to Snake’s stomach, which was a step up from the floor, Snake supposed.

“I get the feeling you didn’t really want to ask about sponge baths,” said Snake, watching Otacon’s face as his partner shook his head.

“I just thought, what if something happened to you, and I…” He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “What if i couldn’t be there?”

Snake thought of E.E., her body limp in his arms, his hands slick with blood as he tried to halt the flow. He thought of Otacon, tears streaming down his cheeks as she closed her eyes.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he lied, and immediately regretted it when Otacon met his gaze, his eyes sharp.

“Don’t patronize me, Snake.”

“I’m sorry,” said Snake, reaching out to hold Otacon’s arm in his weak grip.

Otacon shook his head. “I mean, I just have to think about this realistically is all. You’re close to a decade older than me, and besides that, you’re the one who’s always putting himself in the line of fire, I just…” he trailed off, tugging his arm out of Snake’s grasp and running both hands through his hair. Snake could see he was struggling not to cry.

“Hey…” Snake mumbled, moving his displaced hand to Otacon’s knee.

“I just think, at the end, I’d want to be there, you know?”

“I know,” Snake squeezed Otacon’s knee. “I’d want to be there, too, if the situation were reversed.”

Snake wasn’t sure if the rolling nausea swelling in his throat was the topic at hand or the actual need to vomit.

“So that’s why I was thinking,” said Otacon, using the same string of words for the fourth time that evening, “I think we should marry two of our alternate identities, the ones with health insurance.”

Snake started, jerking his head back in surprise. Otacon wasn’t looking at him, but instead, at the ground. He was beet red, his glasses slipping towards the tip of his nose.

“You know that would only be relevant in like…” Snake looked down at his hands, trying to remember the exact numbers. “Three states or something?”

Otacon shrugged. “We could end up in Canada at some point, and it’s been legal in Massachusetts for a few years now.” Otacon grew even redder, eyes glued to the coffee pot on the floor. He looked a little like he needed it more than Snake at the moment.

Snake narrowed his eyes, squinting at his partner. The feverish haze in his head was making it hard to focus and it took him a moment to identify the embarrassment for what it was.

“We  _ could _ get fake married,” Snake said, and he grinned. Maybe this was the fever talking, but he’d figure it out in another two to three days. “Or, I technically don’t have a last name anymore since my official records have been destroyed.”

Otacon finally tore his eyes away from the floor to meet Snake’s. “What do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t mind getting one, is all I’m saying. Or we could make one up if you like, how does ‘the Kubricks’ sound to you?”

“Very clever,” Otacon replied, snorting, but there was that glint in his eye, the one Snake hadn’t seen since Big Shell sunk into the river.

Snake grinned again. He was starting to feel sleepy, though it was still bright out and the clock only read 6:43pm in glowing green.

“You… you’d want that, though?” Otacon asked, a tentative hand coming to rest over the one Snake had on his partner’s thigh.

“Yeah,” said Snake, after a short pause. “Yeah, I would.”

Otacon’s smile was shy and barely restrained. He leaned over to wrap his arms around Snake’s sticky body. He only had a moment to feel self-conscious about how he must smell right now before he was jamming a hand between his mouth and Otacon’s, which had drawn dangerously close.

Otacon made a muffled noise of confusion, lips pressed against Snake’s palm. Snake turned his head away before he opened his mouth, their faces too close already.

“I just spent the last hour vomiting my guts up and I haven’t brushed my teeth. Bad idea.”

Otacon leaned back and adjusted his glasses. “Oh, right.”

Snake was struggling now to keep his eyes open, but he pressed a kiss to the tip of his own fingers and pressed it to Otacon’s cheek. His eyes were already closed by the time his fingertips met stubbled flesh but he heard Otacon chuckle and felt fingers press against his own cheek.

A hand on his thigh rubbed a slow circle before the weight beside him shifted to the other side of the bed. Before he drifted off, he heard the telltale rasp of pages flipping as Otacon found his place in the pulpy paperback he and Snake had been sharing.

Snake drifted to sleep, a warm body beside him, lulled by the sound of pages turning.


End file.
